


The Clouds Pass

by Ias



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death Fix, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post - BOTFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo awakes after the final battle and goes in search of a ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clouds Pass

The strangest thing was that they won. That was the first thing Bilbo learned when he came to in a throng of legs and shouts. His brain seemed to slosh around in his skull as he hauled himself to his feet, fighting nausea and dizziness until by some miracle he was standing. With every dull wave of pain his vision seemed to flicker, as if the madness spilling out in the valley below had crept into his head. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, surrounded by strangers who hardly seemed to see him.

The cries of triumph and despair rising up from the battlefield lifted over the shrieking of the crows. Despite the fact that his limbs felt as if they were made of sticks and twine, Bilbo fought through the crowd and staggered off as soon as the world stopped spinning for long enough to walk. He remembered now in vivid detail how his friends had burst from the mountain in their full battle gear. Even more clearly he remembered the Orcs closing in around them.

With his heart throbbing somewhere in his throat and the contents of his stomach trying to follow, he made his way down the slopes to the worst of the devastation. Orc bodies littered the ground, but the other casualties were numerous as well. Bilbo passed many people kneeling beside the fallen, their sobs chasing him as he hurried away. It was slow going, picking around the shrapnel on the ground that scraped and snagged at his feet. He couldn’t afford to stop, except for a couple brief moments when dry heaves clenched at his insides and had him doubling over. The smell was nearly unbearable, but he choked in another breath and kept on. He was almost there.

The first he saw was Bifur, leaning on an ornate spear he seemed to have scavenged from the armor in Erebor. He glanced up and met Bilbo’s eyes, but made no gesture or sound. Bilbo bobbed his head, a tiny flare of relief kindling in his chest that at least someone had made it out alright. Yet if any had fallen in the battle, Bilbo knew who it would be.

As he continued, he saw more of the company scattered loosely among the broken shields and tattered banners, exhaustion heavy on their faces. Some of them didn’t even seem to recognize Bilbo through the haze. Others, like Ori, broke into a smile and called out for him, before Dori placed a hand on his arm and quietly shook his head. The lump in Bilbo’s throat thickened as he remembered how they had last parted.

When Bofur saw him passing by, he offered up a mirthless smile of his own that Bilbo could hardly bring himself to return. Without a word, he tilted his head towards the thickest of the carnage. Bobbing his head, Bilbo forced himself onwards, although his feet may as well have been rooted into the ground. He didn’t know what he was about to see, but he had a pretty good idea. And he would have given anything in the world not to have to take those final steps.

He couldn’t let himself begin to imagine what was coming, yet he didn’t need to. He could feel it in every corner of his small body, terror and grief and the agonizing memory of their last words together just waiting to billow to the surface. He imagined death would suit Thorin very well. His features were made to be carved into stone, his arms meant to eternally clasp a sword over his breast, his head too heavy to rest on anything but a hard golden pillow. Maybe Bilbo had thought he could show him a better way. He’d always thought he’d have longer to prove himself wrong. Now it seemed there was no time at all. Not even daring to breathe, he stepped past the shattered remains of a wagon and raised his eyes.

Thorin was lying with his back propped up on a shield, his face pale and drawn. Fili and Kili sat near his side, with Dwalin standing over the scene. Nothing moved, yet it felt as if a knife was being driven between Bilbo’s ribs. He wondered what Thorin’s last thoughts had been. Of Erebor, or his family, probably. Maybe he hadn’t thought of Bilbo at all. It didn’t hurt to think that he had never properly articulated how he felt; he knew that even if they had their entire lives he might still have never done so. Still, he had hoped they would live long enough for him to find out. Seeing him like that, something inside Bilbo stilled. As if all the fear and panic whirling around inside him suddenly stopped and fell dead to the floor, leaving him with an awful yawning openness in his body. It seemed as if a little bit of the color went out of the world, and the sky had never looked so grey.

And then Kili looked up and saw him, as still and silent as a ghost. His eyes were dry, but dull with exhaustion, and they widened marginally to see Bilbo standing there. He leaned down near Thorin’s ear and whispered something.

And then Thorin opened his eyes.

Bilbo stared. He didn’t understand what he was seeing, how Thorin was sitting up, pushing himself to his feet, stepping forward with that look on his face that Bilbo had seen a hundred times. Numbly, his hand fumbled for the corner of the broken wagon beside him as the world seemed to tilt, as if gripping something real could stop him from tipping over into a dream more painful than he was strong enough to survive.

“You came back.” That voice. Around it the entire world seemed to snap back into focus, everything too bright, too loud, too real. This was real. He had to believe that, because with those three words he felt a tide of something rising up from his stomach to his chest, something monstrous branching out into his fingertips and clenching his teeth. He realized, like he was observing himself from a distance, that he was furious.

“You—” Bilbo said, the words too thick to force past his tongue. All the events of the past few days came rushing back to him. “You—”

Thorin took a step forward, and then another, until he was standing just arm’s reach away. He paused, his eyes softening as he looked down at Bilbo. “I don’t expect an apology from you.”

He probably didn’t expect Bilbo to punch him in the face, but it turned out life was full of surprises for Thorin Oakenshield.

“You are _unbelievable_!” Bilbo heard himself shouting. “An apology from me—that you would even—the absolute nerve—I thought you were dead, you giant oaf! Plus there’s the fact that just recently you almost _threw me to my death_!”

The astonishment on Thorin’s face didn’t last long. In a second his nostrils were flaring and his eyes were flashing dangerously. Bilbo was faintly aware of the other dwarves whispering and shifting in the background, but the red haze in his vision had largely swallowed them up.

“You want to start assigning blame?” Thorin demanded, his voice rising. “You stole the treasure of my ancestral home, my birthright, the one thing that mattered to me!”

Bilbo stared at him in disbelief. “Are you mad? The one thing you care about is a stupid rock? What about Fili, Kili, your family, your friends? What about your people? What about me?”

That seemed to have an effect. Immediately Thorin deflated slightly, glancing around self-consciously. “I don’t see how that’s relevant—they’re two separate things, all different things really, and in the end it’s of no importance… and it’s not just a stupid rock.” He cleared his throat and looked away. Thorin could easily channel noble emotions such as valor or righteousness, but when it came to embarrassment he was completely at a loss.

Bilbo felt his surge of anger fizzle out just as quickly as it had arrived, leaving him burnt out and exhausted. Dragging his hand over his face, he heaved a sigh into his palm. “You are such an idiot,” he muttered through his fingers.

Thorin shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Yes. Well. So are you.” There was a pause. From somewhere behind them, Balin cleared his throat very pointedly. “It—it’s good, that you’re uninjured.” Something seemed to occur to him. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“Yes, I’m fine Thorin,” Bilbo said in exasperation. “Well actually I’m not fine, I got hit on the head with a rock, it hurt quite a bit and I’m probably going to go and vomit for a while after this because nothing will stop spinning.”

“That’s a relief,” Thorin said, seeming to miss the part about the head injury and the nausea. Something strange was fighting its way onto his face—something more vulnerable. “I thought you might have died. Being out there, in the battle.”

It took Bilbo a moment to figure out what to say. “Ah. So. You worried about me, then?”

“I wasn’t worried,” Thorin said, perhaps just a little too quickly. “I was merely concerned. Briefly.”

A tired smile crept onto Bilbo’s face. “Well, to think that my little old self could have caused the King of Erebor a brief spot of worry. I never thought I’d ascend to such heights.” That got a smile out of Thorin as well. “I wasn’t sure you cared. No, actually, I was fairly certain you were actively not-caring.”

Thorin looked affronted. “Of course I cared. I regretted my actions almost instantly.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, his smile widening impishly. “Did you really? Well, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“I see you appear to have gotten even _more_ presumptuous in my absence,” Thorin grumbled.

“And you’ve become even more of a prick,” Bilbo said.

Shaking his head, Thorin sighed in resignation. “Are you planning on hitting me again?” he asked.

Bilbo thought about it. “No, I shouldn’t think so. Though I reserve the right to change my mind if you’re planning on dying again.”

“I certainly hope not.” Thorin smiled, and a second later Bilbo was wrapped up in a massive hug. At first he wasn’t sure what to do—whether it was his job to pull back before it went on for too long, because they were standing right in the open where everyone could see and he was fairly sure part of him was still very angry with Thorin—until he realized that in this moment, he definitely didn’t care. He threaded his arms up around Thorin’s waist and held him all the tighter.

“You are by far the most irritating creature I have ever met,” Thorin muttered into his shoulder, because he was obligated to try and ruin every moment at least once.

“It takes one to know one,” Bilbo replied, but there was no bite in it. He felt so tired. He knew that the struggle was not over; that things were likely to be just as difficult in the future as they had been in the path, although hopefully with less spiders and Orcs. Things between him and Thorin were not okay, but there would be time to deal with that later. They were alive, both of them, and for now that was enough.

Finally they broke apart, although Thorin’s hand lingered on Bilbo’s shoulder and Bilbo’s on his waist. “So where do we go from here?” Bilbo asked, because they couldn’t very well just stand there staring at each other forever. He couldn’t be tempted.

Thorin’s eyes wandered off into the distance. “I suppose we’ll start by figuring that much out.”

“You don’t have a plan?” Bilbo said incredulously. “What did you expect to happen after you had defeated Smaug?”

Thorin shrugged, a very un-kingly gesture. “I do not excel at strategy. But we have our friends, our burglar and our wizard.” He paused. “We do have our wizard, correct?”

“Gandalf is fine,” Bilbo supplied.

“Right then. We have our wizard, and Erebor is ours at last. Even an annoying little hobbit with a propensity for trouble couldn’t manage to spoil that.”

“Keep up that kind of talk, and I might have to prove you wrong,” Bilbo said.

Thorin actually smiled at that, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulders affectionately before gently pressing their foreheads together. “No more talk, then. We have a kingdom to reclaim.”

“I thought you just said that Erebor was ours?”

“Yes, well, it is. It also happens to be filled with over a hundred years’ worth of dragon dung.”

“Ah. Right. Guess you should get on that.”


End file.
